Any Duchess Will Do (25 page)

His eyes flew open.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a poor time to say it.”

“When would be a better time?” He rose to a sitting position next to her.

“I don’t know.” She knotted her hands in her lap. “Probably never. But I’m not good at hiding these things, and you deserve to hear it. I fell desperately in love with you this week.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. We had an agreement, Simms. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know. Vauxhall, the bookshop, those first kisses in your library . . . When I try to understand how it began, I go back and back. I don’t know how it started, I just—” She made herself look at him. “I just feel rather sure it’s not going to end. Ever.”

“Pauline.” He cupped her face.

“Still, I can’t be sorry for it. I won’t be. I know we have to part, and my heart will break. But even if it’s aching, at least I’ll always know it’s there.” She gave him a weak smile. “And the naughty books will make so much more sense.”

His mouth thinned to a solemn line. He inhaled slowly. Then he raised his fist and banged on the coach top to signal the driver. “That’s it. We’re going home.”

“Because you’re unhappy?”

“No.” He gave her a look that said,
Isn’t it obvious?
“Because lovemaking in a moving carriage isn’t all it’s purported to be.”

“Oh.”

He hauled her into his lap and swept her into a passionate kiss.

“Pauline.” His voice was a dark murmur against her lips. “My heart, my dearest love. We are done with this cab. To do every wicked, delicious thing I mean to do to you, I need a bed. And hours.”

Chapter Twenty-three

T
here was no denying it. Despite a week’s worth of duchess training, Pauline remained a farm girl at heart. Once again she woke before first light.

Griff lay tangled with her, snoring softly. His dark head lay heavy on her breast. She wished she could let him sleep all morning. After his efforts in this bed last night, he’d certainly earned his rest.

But all too soon it was dawn. She could hear servants stirring on the lower level of the house.

“Griff,” she whispered. She teased her fingers through the dark, tousled waves of his hair. “Griff, I have to go. It’s nearly morning.”

He clutched her tight about the middle. “It can’t be morning. I won’t let it be morning.”

She smiled. “I don’t think even the Duke of Halford can make time stand still.”

“He can try.”

He pulled her down and yanked the bedsheet over them both, making a sort of tent for two. The early morning light shone through the linen, painting their naked bodies with a warm, honey-gold glow.

Pauline ceased worrying about what would happen later that day, and for the rest of her life. She was here now. In his arms. His touch could make her forget everything.

Except the muffled crash and scrape of a grate being cleaned downstairs. That was hard to ignore.

“Is the door locked?” she asked.

He made a nod of confirmation as he tongued her nipple. “It’s locked.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” His hand delved between her thighs.

She put a hand to his chest, holding him back. “Please go check. I’ll feel safer.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Well, then.” He rose up on his haunches. “I won’t have you feeling anything less than safe in my bed.”

With a quick kiss to her brow, he rose from the mattress and made his way toward the door. Pauline rolled onto her side, watching him.

As he covered the distance in easy strides, she admired the long, lean muscles of his calves and the sculpted tone of his shoulders and back. And his arse . . . Lord above. The world had not seen such a perfectly formed arse since the sixth day of Creation. His buttocks were taut, rounded domes of pure muscle. As he walked, tantalizing hollows appeared on each cheek, alternating with every step.

Right, left, right . . .

He reached the door and rattled the latch. “Locked,” he confirmed aloud.

Then he turned around—praise be—and began the walk back.

If he was arousing to view from behind, he was devastating in the approach.

“Wait,” she said. “Stop there.”

He halted. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just . . . I’ve lied to you about something.”

His dark eyebrows gathered like storm clouds. “What?”

“I wasn’t truly that concerned about the door latch,” she confessed. “I just wanted to watch you walk across the room.”

He laughed, startled. His abdominal muscles tensed in a delicious manner.

She reclined on her elbow and sighed languidly. “You’re so beautiful. If ‘beautiful’ is the right word to use for a man.”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t often compliment naked men.” He tugged at his ear in a self-conscious gesture. “I’m starting to feel like a display in the British Museum.”

“You belong in a museum.” She shook her head, amazed. “How do you stay so fit? You’re a nobleman, but that body puts farmhands to shame.”

He scrubbed a palm over his washboard of a belly. “I just stay active. It’s important to me. One winter at Oxford, I caught a pneumonia. Lay sick in bed for months and nearly died. It was a difficult time.”

Pauline could imagine it would have been. Not only for him, but for his parents. Griff was their only child remaining of four, and if something had happened to him . . .

He confirmed her suspicions. “I was already a disappointment to them. But it seemed the least I could do was stay alive, you know? As soon as I was able, I worked hard to recover my strength.” He stretched and flexed one arm. “Not only strength, but balance, reflexes. And I’ve tried to stay fit ever since. Lately, it’s mostly the fencing.”

She smiled. “All that thrusting has served you well.”

“Fencing’s not only about the thrusting.” He drew closer. “It’s about quickness of mind and body. Flexibility. Concentration. Strategy.”

The dark quality in his voice was making her intimate places swell and ache. Her gaze dropped to his eager, arcing cock. Seeing how badly he wanted her . . . it made her desire him even more.

Just to tease him, she moved back to the middle of the bed. “Let me gaze a bit longer, please. It might be my last chance.”

“It won’t be your last chance.”

The mattress dipped as he joined her. He rolled atop her and settled between her thighs. Thanks to his brief sojourn out of bed, his body was cool. Cool and solid as marble.

“This will be the last time,” she whispered.

He slid into her with one long, powerful stroke. “It can’t be the last time.”

She wrapped her legs over his. He worked in and out of her, bracing himself on his hands and staring down at her, deep into her eyes. The intensity was piercing. She felt so exposed, so raw and vulnerable. Her hands began to tremble where she touched his arms. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

He stopped, holding still within her. A slight frown wrinkled his brow.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I wouldn’t change a single thing. You’re perfect.”

Her heart wrenched in her chest. At last, that word again. And it didn’t come when she was dressed in a silk gown and draped with jewels, but just here. Here, when she lay naked beneath him in the full light of morning. Nothing hidden, nothing concealed. Nothing between their bodies but musk and heat.

It was worth the whole week’s wait, to hear it now.

She slid her hands to his back and arched her hips, drawing him deeper. “Take me hard. Hold nothing back. I want to be sore. I want to feel you for days.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. He did as she asked, lifting her legs and guiding them around his hips so he could ride her hard and well. Her breasts danced to his rhythm. His thighs smacked against hers with every deep, penetrating stroke.

She raked her fingernails down his back, scoring his flesh—so that he’d feel her for days, too. She rode the wave of his deep, forceful thrusts.

He pressed his brow to hers. “I don’t want to withdraw. I want to be deep inside you when I come.”

She was stunned. “Griff, no. The risk is too great.”

“I want the risk.” He kissed her lips. “I never thought I’d say that again, but I want it. I want you, always.”

He was talking madness. Lust had addled his brain. She had to leave; he must stay. They were both completely unprepared to deal with those consequences. But some crazed, unthinking part of her wanted the same. The decision would be made. No undoing it. He couldn’t shut her out of his life. And how wonderful it would feel, to someday place a cooing, healthy infant in his arms. Her heart melted at the idea.

She could make him so, so happy.

He paused above her, tensing every muscle. And when he began to thrust again, she sensed a now-familiar shift in his rhythm. His peak was near.

“Don’t stop me.” He pumped hard and fast. “I can’t let you go.”

“Griff . . .”

“Take me,” he breathed, driving deep. “Take everything. Just love me.”

“Yes.” Her own climax broke, sending her into a place beyond thought or reason.
“Yes.”

The door crashed open.

Pauline shrieked. They jolted apart, and she burrowed under the bed linens, still shuddering with the last tremors of orgasm.

Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God.

Griff cursed and flipped onto his back, drawing her into a protective embrace. The hard, frustrated ridge of his cock throbbed against her hip. “What the devil?”

Lord Delacre stood framed in the entryway. He lifted a hand to shield his view. “It’s worse than I thought. My eyes.”

“I thought the door was locked,” Pauline whispered, clutching the bedsheets to her chest.

“It
was
locked,” Griff said through gritted teeth.

“I broke it in,” Delacre said. “This is urgent, Halford. Do you know this girl you’ve been squiring all around the
ton
is a bloody barmaid?”

Oh, Lord. Pauline’s face blazed with humiliation.

Griff’s arm slipped from its protective perch around her shoulders. She felt his erection flagging, too. He slowly sat up in bed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Everyone knows,” Delacre answered. “Eugenia Haughfell ferreted out the truth, and now it’s all over Town.”

She should have known. Those cursed Awfuls.

“No doubt this week has been quite the lark for you, Miss Simms. But it’s at an end.” He walked a few paces into the room, plucked Griff’s discarded breeches from the floor and flung them at him. “You’ve had some narrow scrapes, Halford, and I’ve seen some brazen fortune-hunting schemes in my time. But this beats all. Seduced by a barmaid in the ancestral bed.”

Calm and silent, Griff collected the breeches. He turned aside—away from Pauline—and slid his legs into them one at a time. His back was to her as he stood and yanked the breeches to his waist.

Farewell
, she thought wistfully.
Farewell, finest arse in Creation.

This was it, then. She’d known they were down to their last few hours of bliss, but this was a mortifying ending.

She wanted to disappear under the mattress.

Delacre went on, “At least no one can expect you to marry the girl. The gossip will deem her just another of your debauched larks. Toss her a bit of money and send her off. But I hope you’ve been careful not to get a brat on her. She probably hid it from you, but there’s imbecility in the bloodline.”

Griff paused in the act of fastening a button on his breeches falls. He looked up at Delacre for a brief moment.

“Del,” he said, in a low, easy voice, “it will take me about ten seconds to button these. That’s how much time you have to run.”

Lord Delacre shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m certain this—”

“Run.”
Griff finished the last closure. He swung his arms at his sides, shaking his fingers loose. The expression on his face was thunderous. “I mean it, Del. You had better flee. Because I fully intend to kill you.”

G
riff could tell by the look on Del’s face that his oldest “friend” didn’t believe him.

“Come along, Halford.” He held up his hands. “You can’t be serious.”

Griff pulled back his right fist and crashed a full-force punch into Del’s gut. “Convinced?”

Del doubled over, eyes wide with shock. “Jesus.”

“That’s right, say your prayers. You’re going to need them.” He threw another punch, this time catching Del on the jaw.

Realizing he was at a disadvantage, Del scrambled down the corridor. “Stop and think about this, Griff!” he called. “We had a pact, remember? I’m trying to be a friend. Rescuing you from entrapment. Saving you from greater scandal.”

“You had better save yourself.”

They raced toward the salon, where they’d begun so many days together.

They wouldn’t be using blunt practice swords today.

Griff yanked a short sword from its wall mount and swung it, limbering his arm. “I’ve something to tell you, Delacre. All these years we’ve been perfectly matched fencing opponents?” He raised his blade. “I’ve been holding back.”

As soon as Del had armed himself, Griff went on the attack, swinging in savage blows, driving his opponent backward until he had him against the wall.

Griff let the blade press ever so slightly against Del’s cheek, until a thin line of blood appeared. “Oh, too bad. That might leave a scar.”

“Women are mad for scars. I’m still miles better looking than you.” Del smirked. “Perhaps barmaids aren’t particular.”

“You vermin. She is not a barmaid, and she will never be one again.”

“Do you mean you
knew
?” Del lifted one boot and kicked Griff in the chest, sending him reeling back a step.

Griff recovered quickly, but the brief separation gave Del enough time to raise his weapon and defend himself.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Delacre said, panting. “Are you . . . God, you can’t believe yourself to be in love with that girl.”

Griff shook his head, but not in denial. Love was too small a word for what he felt. Just now, when she’d been beneath him . . . He’d never thought he would feel that way again. Ready to brave any sorrow just to keep her at his side. Perhaps the impulse wasn’t logical or reasoned, but it was real and true. It was choosing hope rather than despair. Seizing the one sparkling possibility in a roomful of someones.

It was her. All her.

He’d been dead inside. She’d brought him back to life.

“I’d die for her,” he said. “And I’d kill for her. The rest doesn’t concern you right now.”

“Devil take me. You
do
love her.” Del ducked, parrying Griff’s enraged strike. “Oh, this is even worse. Just what are you expecting to come of it? You plan to make her your mistress?”